Lila Chen stood frozen at her desk, the drawer still half-open like a mouth that had just bitten her.
Her fingers hovered over the black lace panties, the exact pair she'd worn last night, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of Damien's skin and her own perfume mixed together. The small white note rested on top, those neat handwritten words staring back at her.
She snatched the panties and the note, shoved them deep into her leather tote, and slammed the drawer shut so hard the sound cracked through the empty office like a slap.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She pressed her palm flat against the cool wood of the desk, leaning her weight on it, breathing in short little bursts that fogged the glossy surface for half a second. Then she straightened, smoothed her pencil skirt down with both hands, and forced her shoulders back.
No one could see this. No one could know.
She grabbed her tote, walked straight to Damien's office, and didn't even knock.
The door clicked shut behind her with a soft final sound.
Damien Blackwood looked up from his laptop, that sharp jaw tightening the second he saw her face. He was still in the white shirt from earlier, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons open exactly the way she'd left them after their quick moment in the elevator.
"Lila," he said, voice low, already pushing his chair back. "What's wrong? You look…"
"Don't," she cut in, stepping closer, her heels clicking once, twice, three times across the hardwood. She dropped her tote on the chair, reached inside, and pulled out the panties and the note, holding them up between them like evidence. "This was in my locked drawer. Right on top. Someone put it there. Someone watched us last night, Damien. Someone watched you fuck me and then left this for me to find."
Damien's eyes dropped to the lace, then back to her face. He stood up slowly, the chair rolling back behind him. His hand reached out, but she pulled the note away before he could touch it.
"Let me see," he said, voice rough, stepping around the desk toward her. His fingers brushed her wrist as he took the note, reading it once, then again. "Jesus Christ."
Lila crossed her arms tight over her chest, fingers digging into her own sleeves. "Say something. Anything. Don't just stand there looking at me like that."
He crumpled the note in his fist, knuckles going white, then dropped it on the desk like it burned him. "It's a sick prank, Lila. Some jealous asshole in the building who probably saw us leaving late one night and got creative. That's all it is."
She laughed, but the sound came out sharp and broken. She turned away from him, paced three steps toward the window, then spun back. "A prank? My own panties, Damien. The ones I left in your penthouse last night. Folded. Neat. Like a gift. With that note. You really think someone just guessed?"
He moved fast, catching her elbow, pulling her back toward him until her hips bumped the edge of his desk. "I think someone's trying to mess with us. With what we have. And I'm not letting that happen."
Lila's breath hitched. She looked up at him, eyes searching his face, the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead when he got worked up like this. "Then prove it," she whispered, voice cracking on the last word. "Right now. Show me it doesn't matter. Show me I'm still yours and no stupid note changes that."
Damien's hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading into the loose strands of her bun that had fallen out earlier. "You're mine," he said, voice dropping low and rough. He tugged her closer, forehead pressing to hers. "You've been mine for three years, Lila Chen. Every stolen minute. Every locked door. Every time you call me Mr. Blackwood in front of the board and then scream my name when we're alone."
She grabbed his tie, yanking him down until their mouths almost touched. "Then stop talking and remind me."
He kissed her hard, no teasing this time, just pure need. His tongue slid against hers, deep and demanding, while his hands gripped her waist and lifted her onto the desk in one smooth motion. Papers scattered across the floor.
Lila gasped into his mouth, legs parting so he could step between them. "Damien.. the door"
"it's locked," he muttered against her lips, already working the buttons of her blouse open. "I locked it the second you walked in. You think I'd let anyone see you like this?"
She shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her, then reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle. "Good. Because I need you. Right now. I need to feel you and forget that drawer and that note and everything else."
He groaned, the sound vibrating against her throat as he kissed down her neck. "You're shaking, baby. Feel that?" His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher. "Tell me what you want. Say it."
"I want you inside me," she breathed, tugging his shirt open, buttons popping. "I want you to fuck me on this desk so hard I forget everything except your name. Please, Damien. Please."
He pushed her back gently until she was lying across the cool wood, her hair spilling everywhere. "Look at you," he said, voice thick as he freed himself from his pants. "So perfect out there. So fucking mine in here." He hooked her panties to the side, not even taking them off, and slid into her in one slow, deep thrust.
Lila's back arched off the desk, a soft cry slipping out. "Yes. like that. God, Damien, harder."
He gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge of the desk, thrusting deeper, faster, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet office. "Tell me again," he panted, leaning over her, one hand braced beside her head. "Tell me you're mine. Say it while I'm inside you."
"I'm yours," she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders through his open shirt. "I've always been yours. Even when I have to pretend I'm just your assistant. Even when someone leaves stupid notes trying to ruin us. I'm still yours, Damien Blackwood."
He kissed her again, messy and desperate, hips moving in a rhythm that made the desk creak. "That's my girl. My wife. My everything." His hand slipped between them, thumb circling exactly where she needed it. "Come for me, Lila. Let me feel you fall apart so I know no one else can touch what we have."
She came with his name on her lips, body tightening around him, fingers clutching his hair. Damien followed right after, burying his face in her neck, groaning her name like a prayer.
They stayed like that for long minutes, breathing hard, bodies still joined, his weight warm and solid over her.
Finally he lifted his head, brushed damp strands of hair from her face, and kissed her softly. "Better?" he asked, voice gentle now, thumb stroking her cheek.
Lila nodded, but her fingers stayed curled in his shirt. "A little. But I still feel… off. Like someone's watching us right now."
He pulled out slowly, helped her sit up, and wrapped his arms around her, pressing kisses to her temple, her forehead, the tip of her nose. "No one's watching. It's just you and me. The way it's always been. The way it's going to stay."
She rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down. "Promise me you'll find out who did this? Not because I'm scared, but because I don't want anything touching what we have. Not even a stupid prank."
"I promise," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Now go home. Take a long bath. I'll finish this last email and meet you at the penthouse in thirty minutes. We'll order that Thai food you like and forget this ever happened."
Lila smiled against his shirt, then pulled back and started fixing her clothes. "Thai sounds perfect. Extra spicy. And don't take too long. I want you in that shower with me when you get home."
He grinned, that rare soft smile only she ever saw, and helped her button her blouse. "Deal. I love you, Lila Chen. My secret wife. My perfect assistant. Mine."
She kissed him once more at the door, slow and sweet. "Love you more, Mr. Blackwood."
Then she slipped out, smoothed her skirt, and walked through the quiet office like nothing in the world had just happened on that desk.
Thirty minutes later she was in the penthouse, the city lights sparkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She kicked off her heels, poured herself a glass of water, and wandered toward the master bathroom where the shower was already running.
Damien's low hum drifted out he always hummed that same old song when he showered.
Lila smiled, setting her phone on the marble counter.
The screen lit up with a new text from an unknown number.
She tapped it open.
A crystal-clear photo filled the screen her and Damien from earlier that day, her lying across his desk, his body moving over hers, her head thro
wn back in pleasure.
Below the photo, one line of text:
"He doesn't deserve you."